


Trapped in Blackened Ways

by starduchess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual Violence, Epic Poetry, M/M, Veela, Veela Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starduchess/pseuds/starduchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus hides his dark Veela nature, for he does not wish to subject his painful reality on the golden innocence of his mate, Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped in Blackened Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Betas: [](http://sighing-selkie.livejournal.com/profile)[**sighing_selkie**](http://sighing-selkie.livejournal.com/) and [](http://miss-e.livejournal.com/profile)[**miss_e**](http://miss-e.livejournal.com/) , thank you, ladies!  
>  **A/N:** originally written for [](http://do-me-veela.livejournal.com/profile)[**do_me_veela**](http://do-me-veela.livejournal.com/) 2012 Valentine's Day Fest.

 

  
This feeling, ever present, waxes and wanes  
like the lunar cycles that pull the tides  
and turn the wolves; sometimes strong,  
sometimes weak, like hunger in a severely  
starving man; an ache in my skeleton  
not remedied by tisane nor tincture,  
not alleviated by enchantment nor artifact,  
for the very fiber of my being is cause indeed.  
The nature of my affliction resides in my heritage  
and nothing can change that. I have tried  
cursing the skies for my father’s allure,  
which captured the beauty of the blackest  
of princesses and tainted the royalty  
forevermore. The lust in my soul for light  
extends outward; trembles, as it will,  
within my palm to catch the fleeting bird  
made of fire and spirit, bravery in leaping  
bounds, emerald gems, and sacrificial love.

But I cannot -- _cannot_ \-- touch and grab and  
hold and cling and claim, for to do so would  
taint again, ensnare another in my dark tomb.  
The walls, I feel, crawl all around me; vellum  
whispers of tantalising sins that should never be;  
doxy eyes leer from nearby shelves like visions  
from my nightmares; the musty dank of the dungeons  
acts like acid inside my head, no longer sheltering,  
no longer a comfort in its hideaway location.  
All suffocates this passion, this urge to break free  
and grab hold of what’s mine and rip and tear  
and claw, and for him to do likewise back to me;  
but I dare not give in, so my world blocks any joy,  
a penance for the inner darkness not yet made  
fully manifest and, Merlin willing, never will.  
Intellectual stimulation no longer eases the aches  
away, as fight I must at each dark turning  
of the day.

 

>   
>  _“Severus, you are a valuable servant  
>  to me,” hisses the Dark Lord at each  
>  new gathering of his inner knights.  
>  The faces around me are anticipatory,  
>  waiting and watching with dark intent  
>  for the display of pain and mutilation  
>  that takes place within these halls.  
>  He never disappoints in these matters.  
>  “Crucio!” I fall to the floor writhing,  
>  screaming out loud for their ears to see,  
>  but inwardly my blood, it sings. It greets  
>  the activation of my nerves with open  
>  arms. The muscles contract in spasms  
>  of ecstasy only marred by the knowledge  
>  that he is not the one who has the right  
>  to me. The others think I hate this  
>  as they all do, but that is not the case.  
>  I yearn for the strongest curse to run  
>  along my spine, teasing my being with  
>  the release of endorphins, satisfying  
>  the itch which lies beneath my skin. But  
>  it is not complete; my soul-call goes  
>  unanswered, and I, alone._

 

He shows up in my vision, time and time again;  
around a corner, across the Great Hall,  
beside a stone banister, in potions class;  
bursting with energy and arrogance aplenty,  
he fuels my temper, grates like lightning  
along the nerves, enrages lust to a fever pitch.  
I am drawn to him as he is to my nature,  
but the very act would endanger him and  
send me to a hell of my own making. Cruelty  
shields the flower from destruction, but its  
brutality bruises the delicate blossom, though  
he is made of sterner stuff than that -- the lion’s  
toughness, softly furred but steel underneath.  
Distance I choose to maintain, but with time  
this becomes harder.

 

>   
>  _Screams echo and I know they come  
>  from me. Agony flows through my being  
>  as my body changes, morphs into a  
>  beast, dark and eternal. I wish to die,  
>  to end this suffering; yet I feel it is right,  
>  if only a special one was here to balance  
>  the dark with light, to share the pleasure  
>  and the pain, to make it all glorious sin,  
>  who would not detest, one who would not  
>  despise nor loathe the darkness within.  
>  The medi-witch asks the headmaster  
>  what she should do; no answer need be  
>  given; none can help until I find the one,  
>  yet his smile gambles another solution,  
>  a risk to take which might ease my life  
>  in the meanwhile, a venture that leaves  
>  me empty, burning with shame as I open  
>  myself to him who but provides -- albeit  
>  he does not know it -- relief for my own  
>  pain-filled desires. Whips and crucios  
>  work in conjunction to lessen the itch,  
>  but devoid of devotion, they leave me  
>  hollow inside, ever waiting in loneliness._

 

It grows ever worse, this mounting desire,  
each time his presence invades my realm;  
the derision, the snide remarks, the animosity  
given and received incenses my consciousness;  
and the tension flows through me, blood boiling  
until all I view is crimson. From out of nowhere  
I strike him across the face, and everyone freezes,  
the shock reverberating around the room as his  
eyes go wide. Time stands still, but soon the anger  
grows between us, his fist connecting with my jaw,  
and pleasure erupts in feathers at the first real  
contact from my destined mate. I close my eyes --  
the gasp and the scorn already beginning around me;  
a scream or two resounding; stools knocking over;  
his bookish best friend rattling off facts about the  
nature of Dark Veela -- at the horror, the rejection  
which always shall be my fate. Yet surprise opens  
them again as he pummels and kicks me to my  
knees. I stare in wonder, pain searing along the  
sides of my body while my spirit soars, terror  
invading my heart as hope blooms before me,  
the possibility of hurt, of agony, of intense sensation,  
and -- oh dear, sweet Merlin, help me -- ultimate joy.  
Yearning, no longer hidden but clearly writ in obsidian,  
meets comprehension in bright Kelly green.

The moment lies pregnant before fingers grip my hair  
and pull back, as harsh lips descend upon mine, fierce,  
determined, rough and biting and exquisite -- _so good_ \--  
the coppery taste invades my mouth, breaking the  
barrier on my firm control, ending the exile and  
solitude, and my reason screams as I rip and tear,  
his clothes and mine, in the urge to reach luscious  
skin. I jar away on a moaned “yes” as he grabs  
and twists at exposed buds of pleasure and pain,  
taking the lead and asserting dominance,  
connecting straight to my cock and inflaming  
all of my being. _This_ is what it should feel like,  
what my father must have felt when he made love  
to my mother, the only reason she would have  
to stay; that thought chills me as I look upon him,  
to know I have trapped the golden light in bruises  
and streaks of blood, a darkness all our days,  
but for now there is only fulfillment, ecstasy  
in blackened ways.

\--


End file.
